Monthly Archives: July 2010

Apparently ‘D’ stands for “Disingenuous”

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The other day, I got an email from Elaine Marshall, the 2010 Democratic candidate for the U.S. Senate. Here’s the subject:

HUGE NEWS: Marshall 37% Burr 35%

The email goes on to say: “These new poll numbers come from Lake Research, one of the most respected firms in the business, and are a direct result of your hard work. It is very strong news for us – but with Senator Burr’s $6 million warchest, we still have lots more work to do.” Needless to say, the next three paragraphs asked for money.

“ORLY?”, as we say on the Internet. That phrase has a very specific, “I don’t believe a word you’re saying” connotation. Because I didn’t believe a word of this poll’s result.

I am as eager as anybody to get Senator Burr out of office. But nothing I’d heard before inclined me to think this race was anywhere near close. And certainly not in Marshall’s favor. So I went to the reliable source for political information: Intrade. There you see that Burr is trading at 80, Marshall at 19. That means, as you can read about in their “How does it work?” page, that the market believes there’s an 80% chance that Burr will be elected, a 19% chance that Marshall will be elected (and presumably a 1% chance that some un-named third party will get in).

The one rule to remember about people is that, with few exceptions, they put their money where their true beliefs are. That’s why real money prediction markets are so damn accurate: they get people to stop talking about what they want, and let them actually put their money on what they think will happen. Needless to say, that causes people to work hard to model real probabilities rather than what they want the public to think.

Now, obviously, I’m well aware that perception can become reality; if enough people start believing that Elaine Marshall is electable, then maybe they’ll start giving money to her campaign, which could actually make her electable. But that’s different than saying that a credible poll says that she’s leading the race.

I want to put my time, money, and energy in places where it will do some good. 4:1 long-shots are not my definition of “places where my money does some good”. I feel somewhat betrayed by the North Carolina Democratic party. [1] Are they so naive as to actually believe their 37:35 number, or do they just think that I’m gullible enough to believe it?

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[1] But, paraphrasing W.C. Fields, at least I’m not in South Carolina

Finding a way to like exercise

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I hate exercising. Not all exercise, mind you. I like touch football and ultimate Frisbee. I like softball and volleyball and pick-up basketball. But plain good old aerobic exercise for the sake of my heart, etc., I just don’t care for.

However, I do it anyway (though not as much as I should). I always feel good afterward and I know it has a huge effect on my expected lifetime. [1]

At this point, I need you to go with me on a brief journey. Fire this up:

Big Sciota by Mark Johnson

So while I am up at our mountain cabin (aka “The Best Place on Earth” [2]), I decided to get out and log some serious miles on the New Balances. I went out the driveway, across the bridge over the creek, and turned east, downstream.This is the view that I had as I turned out onto the state road.

Reset the odometer on the hand-held GPS, [3] and fired up the iPod. Next thing I knew, I’d left the main state road and veered into the road that follows the creek toward the New River. In my recent memory, that road was unpaved.

There was a great blue heron, probably four feet tall, stalking the creek, which had filled overnight with a big thunderstorm.

Folks in their American pick-ups, on their way to church, slowed and crossed to the far side of the road as they passed. Almost without fail, they waved.

Checking the GPS, I was keeping a solid 4 MPH pace – not a jog, but a brisk walk. The pavement ended and I went into a shaded tunnel where it was almost chilly.

The road along the creek is cradled by the hills on all sides, so everywhere I looked up, there were beautiful treed vistas.

Then, an amazing thing happened. I reached the point where I’d been out for 30 minutes; my goal was to do an hour on the road – four miles. But I didn’t turn around. Sometimes I push myself a bit further in my workouts, but that’s pure Protestant work ethic coming to the fore (“I’m miserable so this must be very good for me”). This time, I was just enjoying myself. The music (all bluegrass and old-time instrumentals) was great, the scenery spectacular, the weather cool. And I felt great.

I went an extra 15 minutes and ended up doing almost six miles round-trip. I’m pretty sure I’ll never be a gym rat, but for once, it felt good to feel good while I was working out.

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[1] I am reminded of the time years ago when I was talking to my shrink, expressing qualms about my upcoming vasectomy. She wondered, “Are you concerned about no longer being able to procreate, have biological children, etc?” “No, I’m delighted with the outcome. It’s the bit involving a man with a scalpel near my privates that bothers me.”

[2] This expression ™ my friend and colleague Lara W., who I first heard use it in reference to her vacation cottage in Canada. The more I heard about her place, the more I realized that it holds the same special importance for her as this cabin does for me. So I co-opted the name, telling her that I felt that everybody should have a Best Place on Earth.

[3] Yes, I’m a geek. I wanted to maintain a good but not excessive pace.

Why it’s okay to be at the WSOP

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People often get envious that I’m spending two weeks in Las Vegas during the World Series of Poker. That’s because they’ve never spent two weeks in Las Vegas during July. I am away from home and Lisa and that is no fun at all.

Sure, I get to play poker, but hell, I could play as much poker if I were in Asheville, and there’s no bluegrass music or trout fishing here.

No, there’s pretty much one reason why it’s okay to be out here for two weeks: the people.

Many friends I don’t see except during the WSOP and a handshake or hug with them is the highlight of my time here.

As I write this, I’m sitting in the media room at the WSOP. Two rows in front of me sit Brad Willis, Howard Swain, Stephen Bartley, Mad Harper, and Lina Olofsson. Brad is the chief American blogger for PokerStars and the others are the spine of PokerStars’ European blogging team. I spent untold hours with them when I was with the European Poker Tour; I miss them awfully. So sitting here seeing them in front of their Macbook Pros tells me that God is in his heaven and all is right with the world.

Left to right: Stephen, Howard, Brad

Lina and Mad

This trip is especially fun because some of my Asheville poker buddies are out here, so when I get time away from the job, there’s always somebody to share a meal or a poker table with. That’s invaluable.

I also to get to visit with old PokerStars colleagues who are in town for the WSOP (or in one case, moved back to Las Vegas to live).

Russ, Jeanne, and Richard at the 2+2 party

Jesse Frazier (from Asheville) and I even got into our Sunday best and went to the big party for Doyle Brunson at a fancy nightclub at the Wynn. It was fun until the place got so crowded you literally couldn’t walk across the room. But until then, we enjoyed mingling with the A-list crowd and acting like we actually belonged.

Lee and Jesse at the Doyle's Room party. Ship the red carpet

Frankly, you can take this city and toss it over the Hoover Dam into Lake Mead for all I care. The overpriced food, surly cabbies, dazed tourists, Faustian heat, hard women – all of it.

But once a year, the magnet of the WSOP attracts, like moths to a flame, a certain circle of my friends, and I wouldn’t miss seeing them for the world.

Lee, Pat, Kenny, Steve, Tom, and Jesse. The AVL basement game relocated to LAS